idee fixe

if i were quiet
silent
for whatever reason
a goiter
globus sensation
mutism
nothing to say
maybe i would
listen

maybe

i will make this my utopia.

as the beaches of paradise leave me with,
burnt skin, sand-filled and scratched corneas,
a brackish tongue and bloodshot eyes.
as the finest wines and forbidden fruits
have ceased in their ability to quell my hunger.
as the conflict diamonds are lack-luster and heavy
the gold wiring leaves stains on my skin.
as my silk clad delicate bones and tapering limbs
are still the subject of body dysmorphic disorder.

i will rest easy on permafrost deserts.
my hunger will be satiated by bread and butter.
i will be beuatifully adorned with mud and rocks.
and my mangled body will become the sculptors muse.

and this will be my utopia.